Return Me My Violin,Warren
by SoManipulative
Summary: This time,Pitch has gone too far,and taken away something. For good. - Debating on more chapters. Mainly FrostBunny-
1. Chapter 1

Bunny was fading. Floating away in an endless sea of black,his heart wrapped up in it,and the emerald faded softly from his eyes. Ding! Pitch is upon us. There's no point in running,the frail mind states and voices burst from the small chest. Vocals and thrumming beauties,with soft,delicate hands and long pale fingers,that reached out to attempt to comfort. Nightmares decided now, to be the best time to prance from wall to wall, and color everything a frightful black or grey. The small little body,in the center of it all,lifted upward,refusing to the see light clearly being flung at it. There was a sense of urgency, and the others assembled and were told -for some odd reason- not to touch,not to speak,not to shout. Fingers twitched, restlessly, and the creature's eyes fluttered,almost closing.

There was a shout,somewhere deep in the darkness,begging for forgiveness from no one on particular. The green shriveled, and writhed under the black, smoke-like sand that surged,around it all like the sea. Roots crawled forward, and refused to return to the Master. Not ever. And even as the green faded from everything,as the color was drained,the other four felt as if something had been ripped from them. A certain pale boy's knees buckled, and suddenly warmth flooded over his side,causing pain and ache to wrench through the soft frame.

The larger,bulkier man, winced and the swords dropped to the ground as he almost doubled over,but managed to compose himself in the last minute. Brightly colored,the female feared for not her sake, but the other creature's,eyes wide and staring,mouth agape and small,muffled sounds escaping her. The smallest of them all, hugged himself quietly,silently,not wanting to even let images disrupt something this..eerie. Something this painful but somehow,equally beautiful.

was a flash, and suddenly it was running. It was running,sprinting,like there would truly be no tomorrow,bouncing off the walls and engulfing the dark. Smothering it out, and leaving nothing behind. No. This was something else. This... was an essence of something,something trying desperately to protect, even in its dying feverishly _hoping_...Just like it was meant to. Little things cringed away and, the presence swooped over them,circling them and protecting dutifully,the blackness not touching them. It was doing what it could.

Muscles contracted violently, and twisted at the touch of blackness, and the pale young man felt as though he himself were about to fall. But not the way he always did. Not a brilliant,free-fall,no. A dark one,that reeked of despair - a potion that has been spilled over him and many others many a time,planting doubting thoughts, and angry claws into the mind and soul- and didn't ever seem to even remotely want to leave. Oh how he wished ice would not be cold. The Warren was freezing now,and all green and color had sunk back into the bleak stone,tapestries and murals growing over with black masses,covering smiles and joyful laughter.

How he wished it wasn't cold. The creature's breath came out in large, but fairly transparent puffs of air. The body arched in the air, and the eyes began to droop softly, the large warm arms sliding off the abdomen to swing and eventually, come to a stop at the sides of the creature. Oh how he wished he could say something,do something! To help out a dear friend. But gifts would never help at a time like this,they would never bring back, what the creature floating before them had lost. There were times when they each felt such hunger,almost a craving,for pain -only because they did not experience it often,due to horrid side effects- but now ...as they watched the large ears fall back,the tail stop its little signature movements,they knew this time,something went terribly wrong,and someone had gone too far.

Perhaps...no one had,not really. Perhaps, it was just something the creature had always felt, but never voiced because well,his pride,his air of authority,were far too important. It wasn't to be tampered with trivial things like such.

Oh how she wished for the happy to come back,to see him merrily painting the strange, little walking round ivory things,his face as the colored them lovingly - his pride and joy. His reason to be. She would wrap her arms around him if she could,bring him close and whisper words of comfort,smooth over the battered face,the markings on the shoulder and forehead,and tell him it was alright. That it was okay. She would bring red and pink and blue and purple. She'd bring orange,green and yellow. She'd bring every shade,every single one possible and give them to him.

The body continued to darken,to loose it all,to slow down,the pulsing beating of something cracking. And the smallest of the four beings wished he could speak. Oh how he wished the images were wonderful,would be seen by the creature,would be comprehended and understood, as significant. Apparently nothing was anymore,not to this being,who did not want any of it. There was a jolt,and vibrations smashed through the Warren. It was crumbling. It was to be destroyed by its creator.

Four aghast,petrified,shocked,saddened and angry expressions looked up at the figure. Why? It rang in every single one of their minds. It was so hard,the pale man decided. As he lurched forward violently,intent on retrieving the creature,he was yanked out from under the path of an on-coming boulder,back into the safety of the tunnel. Roaring with obvious rage,he attempted to rip from the grasp,but looked up to a tear stricken face,and ceased all movement. The face was stern and steady,and they watched,all four,calming themselves down. They watched from behind the safety of the tunnel,one of many created by the one in the Warren.

They watched. The four Guardians watched that day,as Pitch corrupted the heart of Bunnymund...Digging his claws into it and ripping it apart without mercy, and pulled him to a dark place from which there is no return.

They watched...as Bunnymund destroyed all he lived for,in order to protect what he loved.


	2. Chapter 2

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. Such a tedious pattern.

The small little, frail chest, rose and fell to the steady beat of a non-existent drum. The flickering light fell into a demented and mangled peace. Behind walls of jagged, non-understanding, stubborn granite, the little things gathered, their tiny rumbles unheard and dismissed if so. A single patter of a mouse skittered along the stones and was gone. Come back. Come back, the emptiness demanded. And fill me with something warm. Learn to love and embrace me as this one had. The one, laying so dreamily among what was left of a home. It welcomed the empty like a brother that came home finally, and was loved. Agile once, now broken in an uncountable number of memories and emotions, it was alone. Everything was too soft, too gentle for light to pass properly. It would tear at net, harsh and uncaring.

Voices. There were so many voices, slicing away at the quiet and leaving it to bleed alone. Silver was uncovered and stared blankly, up at nothing that it wanted to see.

" Jack?" It chirped, canary.

Leave me be, the white pleaded, shying away from the little feathered creature. Leave me and do not return. My fault, that the tiny thing was gone, never to revisit, never to share with me its laughter, its emeraldian gaze, falling so gently, it would easily be thought of as a sleeping child's ballet lullaby. Why did this happen? A simple question, to which answers poured forth, slipped and slid around in the mind of Snow Spirit. Music box tinkles would still be heard, ever so faintly, playing in the background as Canary, Gold, and Cold spoke among one another. But no Kangaroo. Kangaroo was gone. Swept away by waves of dark bile, acids painting the body thin and colourless, digging in-between those admirable strong bones and sealing away their power. Turning the markings into blurs of wet, watery paints that ran down without even bothering to search for stops along the way. Once on his knees, he sobbed, the water tracing beautiful patterns down his cheeks, becoming frosted leaves and curls of floral ice. Tiny flying hummingbirds touched at the frost, wanting to melt it and brush it away. Nothing worked. The three Guardians turned, and stared up at a pool of milk, spilled onto the black tablecloth, asking for guidance in a desperate time of need. For it was only a matter of the arrows moving clockwise, before Pitch would spread his fingers wide and snatch away yet another of the Guardians. Time was now precious.

Each asked for guidance that night. Canary managed to finally drag an exhausted, heartbroken Jack to a room and lay him down, pushing on the shoulders, insisting rest was required if they were to ever find a mean to bring back Kangaroo.

" What about Frost-boy?" Cold asked, concern hidden neatly below the anger.

Guardians stared at Gold, who sighed, the metal that was creating words with sand, rusty. Blowing out a gold speckles, he wrote down -with the marvelous use of his hands and a fountain pen- on a piece of paper ; I don't know... He won't let me in his room.I don't think he wants any part of this. Just..assuming it's all his fault, I guess.

Sobs were caught with pale hands, and pushed downward. Why didn't anything happen? Why nothing positive. Why was it so painful? Everything was torn apart right before his eyes, before those wide spherical figures that now were shedding water of the most revolting salty taste, of the clearest, most transparent coloring, onto a bed sheet. The oxygen was flowing in an out too quickly, nothing was actually getting in. Everything was hurting.

Bunnymund. Bunnymund. Bunnymund. Bunnymund. Bunnymund. Bunnymund. Bunnymund. Bunnymund.

The frost Guardian was not jerked into the realization that he'd been screaming until a firm slap echoed throughout the room. A glance around the space told anyone with a high enough intelligence level, that North had gotten someone -or something- strong to break down the door. And from the face he now sported, and the clenched fist, it was equally clear that he had been the one to abuse Jack's cheek, now reddening and stinging enough to bring the Guardian to a halt in his fits of hysterics. Behind the red, close to ferocious form, a gentle hand protruded and a voice smiled.

" Jack please. We are hurting, just like you."

" DON'T TOUCH ME!" The hand was seemingly repulsed and pulled away.

" Jack, I-"

" GET OUT! ALL OF YOU!" Again, the blow came down, tinting the unmarred cheek a bright red.

" Do you think you're special?! **Do you!?** That bunny was just as precious to us, as he was to you! And don't you DARE say otherwise."

The deep, accented voice hissed, causing the smaller form to shrink back in fear. Fear. It had not been a thing he'd felt, not since Pitch had surfaced. A thin string of tears began to leak back onto the pained face. Not hysteria. Just sadness and a desperate sense of loss.

Large pythonic arms picked up the body, shuddering as they saw a familiarity with the young man's posture. It was too familiar. Too much like the way a dear friend had looked, just hours ago.

**A/N; **

**Cliffhanger. Jack's not dead. I wanted to have some sort of update. So here it is. Commas are horrid. I invent new words, cuz I'm cool like that.**


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